


Sweets

by RhiaDalish



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cullistair, DAO, Dragon Age - Freeform, M/M, Other, Zevistair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhiaDalish/pseuds/RhiaDalish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran dares Alistair to steal some candy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Why are we going to that creepy shop again?” Alistair whined. He slumped his shoulders and rolled his head in a childish display of displeasure.

Wynne smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Now, now, Alistair. Mages need our supplies too.”

“I know,” he said, wincing as Morrigan’s razor glare cut him. “It smells really awful in there. Like that time the dog ate my cheese and threw up in Sten’s tent—“ Alistair started to laughed heartily, clutching his stomach. “Maker, that was hilarious. Stinky! but hilarious.”

“It was not,” Sten droned, taking his place outside the shop. He never went inside. Alistair had considered waiting outside as well, but having just peeved the stoic qunari, he was having second thoughts.

“Come, my friend. We will leave the mages to their fragrant tonics and potions.” Zevran set his hand on Alistair’s arm and pulled him along.

“Where are we going?” Alistair inquired, his eyes narrowed at the elf.

“The market, of course! So many luxuries and beautiful people. Ah, yes. Much more pleasant than this place.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, following Zevran onto the main path.

They walked in silence for a few moments and Alistair started to grow uneasy.

“Zevran?”

“Hmm?” The elf turned, his eyes lingering a bit too long on Alistair’s lips.

“Umm…” Alistair croaked as he tried to fight the heat in his cheeks. The elf’s lewd grin told him that he was failing terribly. “Where are we going?”

“Alistair, you do not listen well. Tsk tsk. The market? Do you recall now?”

“I know that, _where_ in the market?”

“Ah!” Zevran’s eyes twinkled. He took a step closer to Alistair, too close for comfort. He curled a finger, beckoning the warden to lend his ear for a secret. Ears burning like red coals, Alistair gave a sigh of resignation and leaned forward. Zevran’s breath was steamy on his ear. “It’s a surprise.” The elf gently bit Alistair’s earlobe before jumping backwards with a boisterous peel of laughter.

“Whaza – you –wah –“ Alistair cupped his hand over his ear. “What was that?” Zevran continued to laugh as he led a grumbling and very red warden to the market.

~

“The sweet shop? Really?” Alistair said flatly, his brows wrinkled as he stared down the smiling elf. His nostrils were being assaulted by the cloyingly sweet smells of the confections. Everything in the shop looked sticky to the touch. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“You see that table over there, my friend?” Zevran said as he pointed furtively to a long, polished table with dishes and dishes of wrapped sweets adorning the top like a tile mosaic. It was quite a colorful display.

“Yes, it’s lovely. Can we go to the actual market now? I hear they have some fine dwarven crafts there.”

“Not yet, dear Alistair. Today we are going to have a little fun.”

Alistair involuntarily rubbed at his nibbled ear with his shoulder. Zevran winked at him salaciously.

“All right then, what are we doing here?”

“I want you,” Zevran poked the warden in the chest, “to steal one of each of those sweets.”

“What?!” Alistair’s voice was almost shrill He slapped his hand over his mouth.

Zevran gave him a reproachful, yet amused face. “Be quick!”

“Why?” Alistair said with a voice much lower than his normal register. He crossed his arms.

“Because…” Zevran said, drawing out the word. His placed his hands on his hips and rocked on his heels.

“There’s a bet. You have a bet with someone! You do! Don’t you?”

“Perhaps I do.” Zevran twirled a hand, half in dismissal, half in distraction. “Perhaps I just want to see if you would do it.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Ha! Then I win.”

“Win what? Who’s in on the bet?”

“Perhaps I am betting with myself.”

“Zevran!”

“Oh, I do like it when you say my name with passion! Do say it again.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No! no! Please, my friend.” Zevran slid his hand in the crook of Alistair’s elbow and pulled him back. “Let me tell you this. If you do this, you will make someone you are less than fond of very cross.”

Alistair glared at the elf, who was eating this up like one of the delicious sweets in the shop. He turned his head to glance at the old man behind the shop’s counter. He was dozing, his wrinkled hand propping his drooping jowls up.

“Wait a minute, I’m not stealing! Why am I even considering this!”

“Ah yes, I thought that might be a problem with you. I will pay for them if you steal one of each.”

“Fine!” Alistair turned back from the elf and started walking backwards towards the table. “If I get arrested for pinching sweets from an old man, I’m going to –Oof!”

Alistair turned and slammed into a cloaked man that had been perusing the marked table. Wrapped candies fell from the man’s pockets and he scrambled on the ground picking them up, stuffing handfuls into Alistair’s arms.

“RUN! GO!” The man yelled. A wheezy snort sounded from the front of the store and the shopkeeper began to holler in their direction. In a panic, Alistair ran towards the door. The cloaked man was hot on his heels. They ran into the street, sweets cascading onto the dirt like shiny pebbles.

“Maker! Oh Maker!” Alistair swore as he ran after the man who had taken over the lead. He didn’t know why he was following this man or who he was, but they were partners in crime now. This was it. This was his stepping over the line to becoming a fugitive. He would have to sneak out of the city with this cloaked man. He would probably start stealing candy directly from the hands of children soon. Ripping it straight from their sticky little hands as they wailed. Alistair hoped that he wouldn’t come to enjoy his fate…

“Over here, Alistair!” The cloaked man hissed from an ally.

Alistair ran over to him, then stopped mid step. “Hold on, how do you know my name?”

The man chuckled, still trying to catch his breath. His gloved hand came up and pulled back his hood exposing a mess of blond curls and a familiar face.

“Cullen?!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair tries to get an explanation from his partner in crime.

 

“Cullen?”

“Yes.”

“Cullen.”

“Yes?”

“Cullen!”

“Alistair?”

“What? Why!”

“I can explain.”

“Then, by all means, please do.”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder and pulled his hood back up. A few passersby were looking at them. They must be a sight, one tall and frantic man and another man donning a cloak with bulging, sweet-filled pockets. Alistair followed Cullen’s gaze and met the curious eyes of the onlookers.

“Let’s go somewhere less dubious, agreed?”

“Dubious? Really Cullen?”

The two men walked swiftly through the busy streets, Alistair keeping an eye out for Zevran. He hadn’t even given a thought to the elf until now. In fact, he didn’t remember seeing hide nor hair of him when the whole candy catastrophe was happening. Let the elf sweat a little.

Cullen led him into a tavern, a scrubby-wooded door that fit crookedly in its frame creaking beneath a swinging sign.

“Oh yes, this is much less _dubious_. Well done.”

Cullen gave him an exasperated look and gave the door a hard push. The tavern was dimly lit and smelled like ale and overcooked meat. The patrons were keeping to themselves for the most part, but a few heads bobbed up when they entered.

“This way,” Cullen motioned and darted to the left into an auxiliary area of the building. A swarthy and rowdy gang of unknown name had seemingly claimed the section towards the front as their own, but they didn’t seem to mind him and Cullen taking up one of the back tables.

Cullen pulled his hood back and unclasped the cloak, letting it fall to the floor behind him. He wasn’t wearing his Templar armor, just simple leathers and a white shirt with an open neck. It was strange seeing him look so… comfortable?

“First I would like to assure you that it’s not what it looks like.”

“It looked like you stole a bunch of sweets!” Alistair’s lips pouted. “And you made me an accomplice. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Reputation? What reputation?”

“I’m a Grey Warden.”

“I thought you were referring to your reputation in the order.”

“Oh no.”

“I assure you, you’re reputation as the naked recruit is still intact among the Templars.”

Alistair blanched for a moment then rubbed his forehead with his hands. “Oh Maker, are you serious?”

“Completely serious,” Cullen chuckled.

Alistair groaned, feeling the blood rush back to his skin and making him glow like a sword in a forge. He knew it was going to come around and bite him in the ass someday. At least his ass was clothed this time. “Can we change the subject please?”

“Don’t worry, Alistair. I’m not going to tell that story to anyone. Well, anyone outside the order.”

“Oh gee, thanks! Such a pal.”

Cullen waved over the barmaid, a sour looking woman of middle-age, and ordered a couple pints. They sat in silence waiting for the drinks. Cullen was clasping and unclasping his hands, but wouldn’t meet Alistair’s gaze. Finally the drinks arrived. It was bitter, but it calmed Alistair’s nerves.

“So are you going to clue me in on to why you’re some kind of sneaky sweets burglar now? Or not.”

“Oh yes, that.”

“Well?”

Cullen stared at Alistair, his lips twisting. The warden could almost hear the gears turning inside the Templar’s head.  Was he planning on fibbing about it?

“It was a dare is all.”

“A dare?”

“Yes. How are the Grey Wardens?”

“Mostly dead, except for me and the new recruit. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh, yes. I heard about all that. Forgive me.”

“Cullen, a word of advice,” Alistair was getting annoyed and he felt his voice raising. “If you are going to try and distract me from why you are pinching candies from a sleepy old man then at least try not to do so with recent painful memories.”

“Alistair, I’m sorry –“

Alistair stood up. “No, I’m sorry I came. What was the point? Seriously!” The gang members became quiet suddenly at Alistair’s outburst. He felt their eyes on his back and turned to face them. “Do you mind?!” He shouted, flapping his arms with ridiculous anger.

The swarthy men held up their hands in a ‘hey it’s none of our business’ gesture and went back to their boozing.

“Sit down, Alistair. Please.”

Alistair glared at Cullen for a moment, then plopped into the chair grumpily. “Tell me.”

“I had reason to believe that some of the candy was poisoned –“

“Nope.”

“Fine. I was taking them for orphans but didn’t have any coin –“

“Try again.”

Cullen gripped the table and leaned forward swiftly, starling Alistair a bit. “I have a sweet tooth alright?”

“Doesn’t the order give you a stipend?”

“A closely watched stipend.”

Alistair blurted out a laugh. “Wait, are you telling me that you don’t want your superiors to know that you spend your own money on candy so you steal it?”

It was Cullen’s turn to blush furiously.

“It’s not that simple –“

“There they are!” a wheezy voice thundered across the room, silencing the gang members once again. The shopkeeper stood in the door way, guards at his heels.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Cullen get a little help from a “friend”

“Oh this is just great.” Alistair grumbled at Cullen, who was looking pale. Was this really how his live was going to end up? Arrested for being an accomplice to a thieving Templar? He would probably be thrown out of the Wardens and have to beg for bits of cheese on the streets like a mouse. Alistair smiled at the thought of a mouse begging for cheese on the street.

“Why are you smiling? Do you have an idea how to get out of this?” Cullen whispered desperately. The guards were weaving their way through the throng of drunk gang members, their metal boots scuffing the threadbare rugs.

“Oh, I …uhhh…” Alistair looked around wildly and met the eyes of the pirate woman Zevran had introduced him to earlier. The one who tried to coax Alistair into coming back to her ship with her. She had been watching and flicked her head towards to guards, raising her eyebrows. Alistair nodded, mouthing “Please, please, please!” over and over. She winked, undid a few buttons on her shirt, gave the men around her a few hand motions, and then stood up.

“Excuse me, fellas.” Her haughty voice sounded over the guard’s clanking armor. They turned to acknowledge her.

“Whatcha?” One of the guards grumbled at her, his eyes glued to the pirate’s ample bosom. Two of the gang members bellowed loudly and whipped the rug out from under the guard’s feet. The armored men clattered to the floor like silverware falling from a table, knocking the old shopkeeper aside.

“GO!” she yelled as leaped over the groaning guards and bolted towards their table.

“Go! Alistair, run!” Cullen grabbed Alistair by the collar, pulling him out of his chair.

“Can’t we just go to jail?” Alistair whined, feeling the pirate woman’s hands slap his backside to urge him to go faster.

“Not today, sweetness. Now haul that chiseled ass faster!”

The three of them squeezed out of the back door and spilled into an alleyway. From the grinding sounds of metal and angry shouts from behind them, the guards would be up and after them quickly. Alistair fought his urge to just lie down and let them drag him away and picked up the pace.

“Where are we going? Who are you?” Cullen panted.

“Captain Isabela, handsome.” She spun like a dancer mid-run just to toss him a vulgar wink.

They ran until they were at the edge of the city and took a moment to catch their breath. Alistair was suddenly glad the Hero of Ferelden always insisted on him jogging along while equipped in heavy armor.

“You two know each other?” Cullen wiped sweat from his brow, the white shirt sticking to his chest.

Isabela stopped to give Alistair a once over. He felt his skin go hot. “Oh yes, we know each other _very_ well.”

“No. No we don’t.” Alistair shook his head. “I barely know her. She’s a liar.”

Cullen gave him an incredulous look. Alistair stammered and blushed ever harder.

Feeling like the guards had been lost, they walked the rest of the way. The three reached the docks right as the sun was touching the water. Ships loomed against the pinks and oranges of the sky like mountains and Alistair almost felt himself enjoying the sight.

“Alistair?” Cullen’s voice cut through his reverie. Suddenly Alistair realized their destination.

“Are you fellas boarding or what?” Isabela called from the rope ladder draped over the side of her ship.

“Oh no no no. I’m not getting on your ship!”

“Why not? You need a place to hide, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do. Thank you, Isabela.” Cullen put his hand in the center of Alistair’s back and pushed him forward. The warden stood adamant.

“Cullen, no! She’s …she’s… a woman of ill-repute!”

Isabela snorted. “Damn right, sweetness. Are you coming or not?” The choice of words was not lost on any of them and Alistair frowned at her smirk.

“Cullen,” Alistair put his hand on the Templar’s shoulder, looking him in the eye. “Let’s just pay for the sweets, explain it away and go back. Can’t we just do that?”

Cullen held the gaze for a moment, his shoulders slumping. He patted Alistair’s hand in a gesture of apology. “I suppose…”

“Guards!” Isabela shouted, snapping the moment away.

Alistair looked over Cullen’s shoulder and spotted three guards approaching the docks, their helmeted heads looking all around for their quarry. Two of the guards walked with a stomping, angry gate, their swords drawn. He was not about to get cut down over some candy.

“On second thought…” Cullen swiftly grabbed Alistair by the wrist and pulled him towards the ship.

~

Isabela’s quarters were surprisingly clean and comfortable. Silky drapes adorned the large porthole window on the western wall and expertly crafted table covered with fluttering maps and nautical tools sat underneath. A large polished mirror was mounted over the plush bed and an enormous armoire made of a beautiful cherry wood sat against the back wall.

Cullen was drawn to the maps immediately, his hands shuffling them about gingerly as he admired the intricately illustrated parchments.

Isabela eyed Alistair as he examined the large mirror overhead. “You get quite a view of things, you know.” She grinned wickedly at him.

“I’d be more worried about it coming loose and squishing me like a pancake, honestly.”

“Captain! Guards are wantin’ to board! What we do?” A gruff voice sounded from the deck of the ship.

“Shit,” Isabela grabbed the warden and the Templar by the arms and dragged them over to the armoire. “Get in!”

“What!” Both of the men protested, trying to free themselves from her iron grip. The armoire was quite large, but there was no way it was big enough for both of them to hide inside.

“NOW!” she flung the heavy doors open and shoved Cullen in, his back hitting the anterior of the closet with a thud. He recovered quickly, but found himself tangled in some article of clothing around his ankles.

“I am not getting in there! You can’t make me – ah!” Alistair squealed as she pinched him on the nipple then shoved him inside. He crashed into Cullen, knocking the air from his lungs as their chests pressed together. Alistair felt his nose poke against Cullen’s face. In the eye most likely from the yelp Cullen made. He was barely able to catch his breath and apologize before he felt the armoire doors closing on his behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get…different in the armoire.

 

Alistair felt the tight space grow tighter. How much oxygen was left in here? Was he breathing too much? Would his breathing too much kill Cullen first? Alistair felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was going to suffocate. What a sight that would be when Isabela finally returned to them. Dead and blue, smashed up against Cullen, stuffed into a closet like old coats.

It was too much. Alistair had to get out, guards or no guards.

“Alistair!” Cullen’s voice was a whisper, but loud being that his mouth was up against the warden’s ear. The sharp tone brought Alistair back to reality.

“So-sorry. It’s just very… confined in here.”

“I’d say so.”

“I…um… can you move your arm?”

“Which?” Cullen asked while he tried to reposition his arms.

“No, that’s worse. Ouch!”

“Shh!” Cullen’s gloved hand fell across Alistair’s lips. The pleasant smell of oiled leather and the warmth of the hand filled the warden’s senses. A strange tingle ran down Alistair’s spine like a bead of cold water.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the wooden floor outside the captain’s cabin and Isabela’s muffled voice was heard along with a vehement man’s voice.

“Do you think that’s the guards?” Alistair spoke, his mouth still confined by the Templar’s fingers.

“What? Oh.” Cullen’s fingers dropped from his lips. He fumbled with the hand and arm, not knowing where to put it. If he put his arms flat against the back of the armoire, his shoulders would get stuck between the annoyingly positioned shelves on either side.

“Just… here,” Alistair whispered, placing Cullen’s arms on his shoulders. “There, better?”

“I…um…” Cullen’s arms remained stiff on the warden’s shoulders.

There was very little light except for what streamed in from the keyholes and the slit where the doors met, but Alistair could tell by the look on Cullen’s face that their position was much less of a necessary position and much more of an awkward embrace. But what choice did they have? They weren’t strangers and had definitely been in more familiar situations during Templar training. He and Cullen had been forced to share a tent probably barely larger than this armoire turning one endurance drill.

Finally, Cullen sighed and hooked his left arm around the back of Alistair’s neck while dropping his right arm to his side. He gave the warden a resigned yet grateful smile and shrugged. Grateful that Alistair was willing to allow him to fundamentally embrace him just for comfort’s sake. Try as they might to avoid eye contact, it happened and they found themselves laughing.

“I told you! I put them on a ship an hour ago. You’re barking up the wrong tree!” Isabela’s voice was alarmingly close and their laughter died. Alistair felt Cullen’s arm muscles tense. His eyes flicked to meet Cullen’s and they held the gaze. Silently fearing for themselves with at the same time hoping their expression was encouraging to the other.

“Bullshit, you dirty scrod. Now where are they?”

A metallic note and a shuffle of feet echoed so close that Alistair felt the vibration from the movement. He turned his head to listen, unintentionally pressing his opposite ear against Cullen’s face. The Templar made a snuffling noise, the puff of air from his nose tickling Alistair’s ear and neck. The tingle down the warden’s spine went from a shiver to a warm caress, like fireside blanket being draped over his bare skin.

“Don’t make me turn you into fish food,” Isabela said with a voice and sharp as the knife Alistair supposed she was wielding.

“Sir! We spotted a boat across the way returning from the other shore.”

“I told you! Now get out of my cabin before your fleas get into my bed.”

The sound of sheathing metal and stomping footsteps that shook the armoire resonated in the enclosed space, shaking the clothes and curios surrounding them. Alistair and Cullen both held their breath until the angry man and Isabela’s voices sounded from a much farther distance.

“Maker preserver me, that was close.” Cullen still whispered, setting his forehead on Alistair’s shoulder in relief.

Alistair chuckled and wedged his hand up behind Cullen’s back to pat his friend on the back of the neck.

“Is someone there?” A reedy voice inquired from close by.

Alistair’s eyes went wide, and he stifled a gasp as did Cullen. The Templar’s hand was over his mouth again. Alistair was a bit offended, but realized that he had almost replied with “No…” to the question pending.

The smell and soft texture of the gloves calmed Alistair again. Cullen’s hand wasn’t pressing threateningly or stiffly against his lips. It was more a gesture of familiarity and protection. He smiled under Cullen’s fingers, bringing the Templar’s golden gaze to meet his. The fingers were parting, falling from Alistair’s lips. Cullen’s hand ran against the angle of Alistair’s jaw, lightly grazing the elf-bitten and still-sore earlobe.

What was happening? Cullen had never looked at him like this before. No one had _ever_ looked at Alistair like that before. Was he…dying? Was Cullen going to have a stroke? Maker!

Before he could part his lips to ask, Cullen’s mouth brushed his. What was that? Had he stumbled? Was it…. An intended kiss? No. Yes? Was it? Was that what this was? Alistair’s mind spun and his body felt light. It took him a split second to realize that these strange sensations were not the work of his carnal reaction, but that he was falling backward. Alistair tumbled backwards like a badly stored pair of shoes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward situation becomes more awkward for some. Very amusing for others.

Alistair groaned as he hit the floor, his head bouncing on the scrubbed wooden floor. He half expected Cullen to come tumbling out of the armoire on top of him, but the Templar had been wedged between the shelves well enough to keep standing.

“Oh ho! What is this?” Zevran’s voice was laden with amused smugness. “Have I sprung your secret love nest, Alistair?”

“Oh Maker, why is it you?” Alistair draped his arm over his eyes, wishing it were all a horrible dream and Zevran was not really here gloating over him like someone who just won the jackpot.

A floor shaking _THUMP_ made Alistair jerk his head up just in time to see Cullen stumbling from the armoire, some kind of frilly thing looped around his ankle. Their eyes met for a brief moment and Cullen’s face flushed. He blinked several times, his golden gaze darting everywhere but at Alistair prone on the floor.

“I…um… I should…” Cullen stammered as he tried to hide his crimson face.

“Wait!” Alistair scrambled up, his head spinning a little from the sudden exertion. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to blink away the stars. He sat back on the floor, seeing that Cullen was gone. A swirl of thoughts and feeling stirred in Alistair’s brain, making him dizzier than any concussion he probably had. What had happened in there?

“I’m sorry, I think your lover has fled.” Zevran could hardly contain himself as he offered a hand to help Alistair to his feet.

“He’s not my –“

“Why was your boyfriend in such a rush?” Isabela appeared in the doorway of the cabin, her face a terrible attempt at hiding her amusement. “You not have enough time to…uh…divvy up your booty? I thought I gave you enough time.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair narrowed his eyes at the pirate.

“Well…” She twirled a lock of her hair around her bejeweled finger. “I chased those ruddy guards off then figured you two needed a little alone time. So…”

“What!”

“Then Zev came around looking for you and we chatted for a bit…”

“Ah yes, I told her about your dashing partner in crime. We agreed it was all very romantic.”

“This isn’t one of those lewd stories Leliana tells when she’s had too much wine! No, Zevran – No! You are not going to tell Leliana!”

“Of course not, my friend.”

“You already told her.”

“Perhaps.”

Isabela burst out into laughter with a snort, clutching at her ribs.

 “You two are horrible people.” Alistair grumbled, trying his very best to will his skin from heating up.

Isabela wiped at her eyes. “Oh come on, sweetness. I’m sure you’ll have another shot with him.”

“I don’t want another shot! There was no shot in the first place!” Alistair threw his hands up, fully realizing that he was only making himself look more ridiculous.

“I must say, my friend,” Zevran’s grin was wolfish, “I had no idea you had a taste for handsome young men. I am a little jealous you did not approach me first! Or…” he leaned in, running a finger along the bitten earlobe, “Am I just not your type?”

“No!” Alistair tried to slap the elf’s hand away but only succeeded in slapping himself on the side of the head.

“Aha! So you do lust after me – you naughty boy, Alistair.”

“Oh that’s just … Goodbye.”

“No! Please, Alistair, I tease.” Zevran slipped around in front of the warden and placed a hand on the taller man’s chest. “I am sorry. I do get carried away at times.”

“You mean all the times.”

“Perhaps. Now let us get back to camp before our warden becomes worried.”

“Zevran?”

“Yes?”

“Please stop… fondling my chest…”

“Apologies, my friend.” He took his hand away after one more appreciative squeeze. “You are very firm.”


End file.
